It’s believed that an obsession is an idea or notion that persistently preoccupies or intrudes on a person’s thoughts.
But I argue it’s more than that, more than a definition, a string of words strung together. Nothing can truly convey how I feel, what I feel, the extent I’d go to, to have what I wanted, who I desired.
They’d think I was obsessed.
I called it love.
I recall the first day I saw her, how she appeared, how I instantly felt. It had been hot outside, slightly humid, unusual for the time of the year. She’d had a sheen of perspiration on her temple, and I’d longed to run my tongue along it, pick it up so I’d take a portion of her into me.
I recall the first time I saw her like it was yesterday.
The first day she’d put her spell on me.
The first day I’d fallen in love with her.
The first day I’d been obsessed.
I’d known from that moment on, no other would have her. She was mine, and I’d make her see that.
She’d strolled into the classroom in this white sundress, these small black flowers smeared across it like spilled ink. Her dark hair had been piled high on her head almost haphazardly, like she’d been rushing late and hadn’t known what to do with it.
Strands had tumbled down as if she’d been sprinting, the knot in her hair failing to keep the locks in place. Her cheeks had been bright, and I’d wondered if they’d be that color when she felt pleasure.
Her breathing had been quick, her chest rising and falling, her breasts strained against the bodice of her dress, her nipples firm as they’d poked against the thin cloth.
She’d apologized to everyone she’d walked by as she made her way to her seat, and I followed her the entire time, tracked her with my sight, unable to get my focus off her.
She screamed innocence and fragility with her delicate beauty that had made the very male part of me spring up. Never had I felt such an instant attraction, such a bone-deep erection.
And it was in that very instant that I knew without a shadow of a doubt I had to have her.
She was my student.
I was her professor.
It was against the rules.
But that made no difference to me. I was born to break the rules for her. I’d understood it as soon as I saw her, as soon as she’d sat in my class. Even now I thought of the way she’d crossed her legs, her dress rising up, showing even more of her alabaster skin, as if she rarely went out in the sun.
Everything from her pink painted toenails to her small pearl earrings shouted she had no awareness of the world, of its hazards.
She had no knowledge of the nasty things that males wanted to do to women… that I wanted to do to her.
But she’d find out soon enough. Gracie would understand how deep my yearning for her went, how much I’d already claimed her as mine.
And when she did, that would be the greatest pleasure of all.
Focusing was damn near impossible while Grace was in my class. Fuck, it was impossible every fucking minute of every fucking day.
She was all I thought about anymore. She was everything I wanted. And my need for her had developed into this consuming addiction. It possessed me, made me feel unstable, and I knew the only way to sate this yearning, to satisfy this hunger, was to make her mine.
I found myself staring over at her continuously, unable to stop myself even though I knew it wasn’t proper. I should keep my distance. It was best for my sanity and would be professional.
“Can you repeat that last part, Professor Baldwin?”
I cleared my throat and looked at the student who’d posed the inquiry.
I tried to clear my brain and focus on my speech. “So, we are able to trace that the CCR5 delta 32 mutation, which hampers the infection rate of HIV, evolved in European populations.” I glanced at Grace as I talked, noticing a male student seated beside her lean in close and mumble something to her. “Most specifically Northern Europeans.” I felt my eyes tighten as I curled my hands into fists at my sides.
